This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.
I met her the summer before her sixth grade year. She was so different back then. When you spend enough time with her, however, you'd find some things haven't changed. Now she's in her senior year, and it's hard to believe she'll be heading off to college soon.
I still remember the way she was back then. Her hair was always back in a ponytail. Thin-wired glasses framed her big, bright eyes. Her favorite color was yellow. That's how I came to be. I look at her now, and I'm always amazed. She no longer wears glasses around her blue eyes. She rarely ever wears her perfect blonde hair back. At one point, she was oblivious to her looks. Although she's still modest, it's now no secret how beautiful she is.
I've seen her when she was weak, proving she was human and not some fictional character out of a fairytale. I was there when her father remarried without notifying her. She didn't know she had a new step-mom until three days after the wedding. She wasn't surprised when he called her to wish her happy birthday two days after she turned sixteen. He didn't want to drive to pick her up on Christmas day her junior year. She didn't understand why, but once again, she wasn't surprised.
I remember her first true love -- and her first agonizing heartbreak. She had never felt so strongly about anyone ever before. She cared about him so much that love made her blind. It wasn't until he left her for another girl without even telling her it was over between them that she realized she had been played. She realized she had been used and thrown away. I watched her cry herself to sleep every single night for months and months without exaggeration. I watch her cry occasionally about it even now, after all this time. I've never seen so many mascara stains on one pillowcase. She'd shower multiple times a day, trying to wash the guilt and feeling of stupidity off of her. I watched her get up at three in the morning to just clean the kitchen and wash the dishes.
That betrayal was what triggered it. No one realized what was slowly happening at first, but the signs were always there. I watched helpessly as her jeans stopped staying around her waist on their own. I watched as her shorts seemed to grow larger each week. Her belts eventually wouldn't tighten anymore. I watched her spine and shoulder blades stick out from underneath her skin, slowly becoming more defined. The knobs that were her wrists and knees grew more pronounced.
Time seems to stop now. I wait for someone -- anyone -- to help her. I wait for the boy that broke her heart to come back and fix her, because she deserves it. I wait for her new boyfriend to notice that she shouldn't be as thin as she is. I would do something myself, but what can I do? I am simply just a yellow wall.
If you're struggling with an eating disorder, call the National Eating Disorders helpline at 1-800-931-2237.
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